Out of the mouths of babesThere truly is no understand of what it means to be a military child unless you've actually been one.

All in all I believe that being a military child has changed my outlook on life. But I don’t really know where to start. Or how to explain it.My dad was deployed when I was younger so I was lucky in that. If It had happened when I was older I think I would have grasped that he had the chance of not surviving. I would have had a lot more emotional stress and miss him a lot more since I wouldn't see him.He helps me believe in everything I do and supports me in every way. I just finished reading my mom’s book and it was about his second deployment. And it was a sensational book. It showed me how lucky I am to have him.When he was gone for work I was a bit older and I could talk and walk. My mom worked hard during those times to help other families. My mother had meetings with her wonderful team. My sister and I would talk to each other, play legos, have nerf wars, and watch tv. One time my mom was on a meeting and we made a sign that said “can we watch tv?”. Not my finest moment, interrupting my mom’s work. But when he was at work and not deployed I didn’t have too much fear and anxiety. I knew everything would be okay.Being a military family we moved around quite a bit. I have been in many houses and have several memories. One of the things that was horrible was having to leave behind many friends. Every time that I had a good relationship we moved only to start over. In Alabama I met this one friend. He was probably the nicest boy around. He was funny and amazing to be around.Another boy I met, I don’t even remember his last name. At my 10th birthday party he tried Takis and had the sink sprayer sprayed in his mouth. I miss his weirdness. While in Alabama I met a friend who played baseball. I played baseball with him and he was amazing to watch. We had him over a whole bunch and I miss him.When people talk about military kids, especially during this month, most people think of those things: deployments, or schools, or having to move a lot. But being a military kid does not just mean that you are the child of a military warrior. It means you endure the strength and pain of family being split in two. My mom stayed with us during this time. She stayed strong in protecting two children. She stayed home and worked and took care of us at the same time. When we were sick we got sick. I threw up in the bathroom. Not just in the bathroom, I threw up on the walls and floor and on the toilet. It was horrible for her. Not for me. I didn’t have to clean it.I am so thankful that I have my wonderful parents standing by me. I rarely like to leave their side. I am blessed with these two amazing people in my life. So whenever you talk to your parents and friends thank them or acknowledge them for all their hard work and effort that they put into your life. Because being a military kid is about all the hard times. The sick times. The moving. The sadness. The crying. And, hopefully, it is also about finally having a chance to be a family.

Identity is something every child struggles with, as simply a normal part of growing into an adult.Who am I, what shall I become, what is my place in the world?There's the added weight of the expectations of the adults in the child's life, trying to direct and steer them into the directions the adults feel is best.Then there's the military child.All of the struggles, the weight, with the added weight and stress of the label of military dependent.Who are they, what will they become, and how will they get there?

Blankness is a darkness that falls on ourselves. Darkness is light.But seen a different way.

Light is the fire that burns us.Determination.We keep these in our hearts.

We think.But in our own way. And they say we are all special.In our own way.

PTSD is a difficult disorder to live with. It's difficult to understand, not just for those living with it, but for those interacting with those who suffer.Trying to explain what's going on to your children is a whole new level of difficult. And there is guilt, that it's just one more thing we've put on their shoulders.

But, we have access, through mental health professionals, counselors, and support networks, to tools we can teach our children to use; tools they can use to not only understand what is currently going on, but their emotions and feelings as well.

"I guess I can't have anything of mine in this house!" My Dad yelled at my sister after she threw his magazine away. It was an old magazine and I didn't know why he was mad. He yelled at her for what felt like forever, and then yelled at me for standing there. I went to my room and cried. When my Dad yells like that I don't feel good. My stomach hurts and I want to bury my head in my pillow. Sometimes he yells really loud and it scares me.

My little sisters start to cry and I cuddle with them on the bed. Pretty soon I hear my Mom talking to my Dad, and he stops yelling. He comes into my room and he is crying too. He says sorry and gives me a hug. Sometimes I don't want him to hug me. Sometimes I want to yell at him and hurt his feelings too. But I don't. I'm too scared he will yell back again instead of being sad. I wish I wasn't scared.

My Dad says he has something called PTSD. I don't really understand what it means, but he tells me that it means he is not the same anymore. Something in his brain isn't working right and he gets angry faster than he did before he went to war.

My Dad sings me a song and rubs my back while I cry. The anger builds up again. How can he be so mad one minute and be so nice the next? It confuses me. I want to be angry at him and I want to hurt him like he hurts me, so I tell him that Mom will divorce him if he doesn't stop having tantrums. I think I must have hurt him because he stops rubbing my back and leaves the room. I heard him whisper "I'm sorry" again and then I hear the front door close. He has left. Now I am the one who is sad. I didn't want him to leave. I just want him to not be so angry.

I write in my journal and put it on my Mom's bed. I can hear her crying when she reads it and then she puts it back on my bed. The only thing she has written inside is "I love you. No matter what." I start crying again and hug her hard, telling her I am sorry for saying that to Daddy. She says that we will all work it out. Maybe she called him, or maybe he was done being sad, but he came home.

Mom and Dad talk in their room for a long time. I can hear whispers but I don't know what they are saying. Later they both come out and I can see Mom has been crying. I hope she isn't really going to divorce him. I didn't want that. I just wanted him to know he hurt me. Mom gives me a hug and goes to the kitchen. She cooks or cleans when she is upset.

Dad asks if its ok if he sits with me. I nod and he sits down. He doesn't say anything. He just sits there. I think he doesn't know what to say to me, but thats ok because I don't know what to say to him either. We sit there for a long time. We don't say anything, we just sit there. Then he stands up, and says " I love you so much." and walks back to his room.

Mom tells me that Dad doesn't have someone he can write to when he has bad feelings. I told her he should get a journal like mine and then he could write to her, but Mom says Dad needs someone else to talk to and he is going to call about going to a counselor. I went to a counselor before when I was sad and she helped me, so I think this is a good idea. I wish I could help my Dad, because I want him to be the fun Dad he used to be, but Mom says sometimes it takes more than love to help someone. I hope he can talk to the counselor and be the fun Dad again.

What is it that makes us who we are? For a military child, that is a vastly different answer than many other children will ever be able to know.Yes, it is a difficult life. There is a lot of loss.But, there are so many small, brilliant joys, that bring beauty out of the seeming chaos of that life.Here is some of all of it.

I am from packed up rooms

I am from different yards with crabby old neighbors and mean old dogs barking everywhere, as my brother and I played in our tiny yard. The trampoline was our favorite.

I am from a different neighborhood every 2 years, with different ‘‘Neighborly’’ welcomes, including dry cookies and phone numbers.

I am from Eleanor and Darryl slipping snickers bars through the fence, acting as My adoptive Grandparents, and Melissa holding me close as I wept for My daddy.

I am from “we’ll get through this. Daddy will come home. He won’t stay in Iraq, he will come home.”

I am from blueberry muffins as a deployment coping regular, and macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.

I am from Latkes and Dumplings, and tacos and eggs with cheesy biscuits.

I am from the one journal that has never touched the inside of a packed up box, but was never finished, for they carry into another journal, instead of the last page.

I am from letters from friends I will never see again, who I feel guilty thinking about.

I am from learning how to say goodbye so I can say hello again.

I am from a ragged old doll teaching me how to love

I am from several sketch books, that are better than growth charts

I am from thousands of songs

I am from one ragged old dog, who hugged me harder than I ever hugged him, who is losing his stuffing

I am from one Simon and Garfunkel song that daddy rocked me to sleep with

I am from a legacy of houses I will never forget, and make sure the next generation knows as well

There are deep, unrelenting emotions hidden in the words of children telling you of their feelings facing stress and separation.The words might not seem deep, or as cunning as the words of an adult, but children are, as they experience things, learning the words the adult they will become will use to more fully describe not only those emotions but how they have learned to handle and live with them. As they speak, we are privileged to watch them grow and understand the world and who they are in it.Sometimes that is beyond painful, emotionally. Especially when they are our own.And so, when listening to a child talk of their emotions, their fears, their worries, it is raw in the way many of us have learned to forget, to cover with distractions.Sometimes, the simple words are the best.Witness with us.

Out on the boatWithout meFor so longOh, so very long

Dad is gone.

Counting down weeks til he’s homeWe miss him so much.Angry.Sad.Confused.Worried.Scared.Annoyed.

Author

All the blogs found here are from military kids.They are all anonymous, not only for OPSEC and PERSEC, but to protect our most precious members of our extended military family. Please respect that, and hear their voices.